


Crossed Lines

by Karios



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Dialogue, Canon Rewrite, Conversations, F/M, Love, Marriage, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-20 13:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19993108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/pseuds/Karios
Summary: Neal tells Sara about the treasure.“You know Caffrey, if you expect me to keep this many secrets, you really should marry me."





	Crossed Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [booknerdguru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/booknerdguru/gifts).



> I was given total freedom and I ran away with it.
> 
> This is a years-in-the-making response to whether Sara's reaction to the treasure would have been different had she not stumbled upon the truth, but gotten it from Neal. I like to think it would have been.
> 
> This picks up at the end of Taking Account and goes on from there. I hope you enjoy the ride.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Ashling, without whom this fic would have been both much weaker and definitely typo-riddled.

Sara Ellis valued privacy to a point. Everyone needed their secrets, but Sara wasn't sure she could be like June, building a life around someone whose definition of privacy meant major secrets that could end in jail time. Neal saw life as one big adventure, and while it had been fun to visit his world of private jets and clothing worth a year’s salary, she wasn't sure she could live there. Neal seemed to think she could, though.

She dialed his number with the intent of saying some of this, and he answered before she realized that this probably wasn't a conversation to have on the phone. She found herself asking, “When will you be home?” instead. It was abrupt and awkward and she regretted the question the second it was out of her mouth.

She wished she hadn't said that even more when he laughed and asked, “Are we a 'when will you be home' couple now?”

“No...I was just asking because...when you said that we could keep living like this, what did you mean?”

“Nothing. It's like you said. I was daydreaming.” She caught the slight hesitation, the too-bright note to his voice, so she called him on it.

“Really? That's all?”

“No. Look, if I tell you the truth...it's crossing a line that there's no coming back from, and you said you didn't want to do that.”

Sara sucked in a breath, shocked into momentary speechlessness, but she didn't get a chance to answer before their third wheel chimed in.

“Neal, no! You can't!”

“Is that Mozzie?” she asked, confused.

“Yes,” Neal answered, with a pointed glare in Mozzie's direction. “I can't do this now, Sara. When I get home, okay? We'll celebrate getting your money back and then I'll explain everything this time.”

“Okay. Be careful, Caffrey,” she said.

Neal hung up, slipped the phone back into his interior breast pocket, and took his seat at Mozzie's table.

“You can't tell Sara,” Mozzie said again.

Neal sighed. “I'm just considering it, Moz. What have you got there?”

“Vulture's number, and I didn't even have to circumvent a middlebox.” There was pride in Mozzie's tone.

“You got yourself a girlfriend.” Neal smiled.

“Neither I, nor she, would ever thrust such a crude epithet upon ourselves, and you're changing the subject at hand. You're going to tell Sara and then what, stay?”

“It's crossed my mind.”

“No.” Mozzie bristled. “I don't want to hear this.”

“Let's take a different kind of chance.” Neal gestured toward the slip of paper. “We can live our lives.”

“As closet billionaires? I don't think so. And this isn't a different kind of chance for you, Neal. You made this mistake already once, with Kate, and look how that turned out.”

Mozzie got up, and Neal followed him.

“That's low, Mozzie. I get that you're angry.”

Mozzie ignored him, holding up Vulture's number and pulling a lighter from his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Cutting all ties,” Mozzie said as he lit the first corner. The paper caught flame. “Our future is lying in a vault right now, waiting for us. This is no time to be dropping anchor.”

It was the fire that truly made up his mind for him. Watching the scrap of paper burn, it was too easy to be reminded of the last time his future had gone up in flames, and he wasn’t ready to let Sara, Peter, New York, or any of it go.

“You do what you want, but I'm going to tell her, Moz.”

“You do that and you could ruin it, for both of us!”

“Yeah,” acknowledged Neal. “Maybe.”

He took off in the opposite direction. Mozzie yelled after him, but Neal no longer cared what he said.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sara paced the length of the apartment, eyeing Neal’s laptop. Waiting for Neal to get home was proving difficult. Whatever Mozzie thought Neal shouldn't tell her wasn't likely to be something Sara wanted to hear, and Neal had warned her as much himself. And yet, she wanted him to be honest, didn't she?

She ended up packing to give herself something to do. It was practical. If whatever Neal was about to say went badly, she'd need to be ready to leave.

That bit of reasoning did nothing to stop the small twinge in her pit of her stomach when he asked, "Are you leaving?" almost the second he got through the door to the apartment.

“No. Maybe?” She shrugged. “The renovations on my apartment are far enough along that I can move back in. But that depends on whatever you have to say.”

The last of Neal’s smile slipped off his face. “We're doing this right now?”

Sara nodded. “Is anything going to change if we wait?”

“No. But everything changes if we don't.”

“So, you've said.” Neal didn't move, and Sara stared at him until the silence became uncomfortable. “Neal, just tell me.”

Neal nodded slowly and crossed the room in long strides. “It will be easier if I show you,” he said as he took the books off the laptop and called up something on the screen. He indicated the chair wordlessly, and once she sat down, he slid the laptop in front of her.

Sara stared at the feed in growing confusion, her eyes sweeping over boxes and paintings and jewelry and gold. She scrolled back and forth, her mouth hanging open in shock as she took it all in.

“Oh my god,” she said, her voice whisper quiet. “Neal, what did you do?”

Sara barely registered she'd said out loud until Neal answered her: “I didn't steal it, exactly. Mozzie did. I've just known about it for a while.”

She tore her eyes from the screen finally and twisted to face Neal again. “Turn it in. Give it back.”

“Even if I wanted to,” Neal began and Sara noted that he'd just very carefully told her that he didn't want to, “I can't. I wouldn't be able to turn in my half without turning in Mozzie's half too, or exposing him. I won't do that.”

Sara shook her head. Neal's logic was bizarrely noble. “What does Mozzie want to do?”

“Take off. Live the way you and I have been the last few days. Doing what we what, buying anything we want, including a private island to while away our days on. Every con artist's dream.”

“Why haven't you?” she asked, getting back to her feet. This was too big a conversation for only one of them to be sitting down.

“I don't know.”

She shot him a withering look. He couldn't just drop all of this on her and stop there.

“It might be the conmen's dream, but it's not mine, at least not all of my dream. Not anymore. I like my life here and I want more than a permanent vacation.”

He took a step toward her; Sara took a step back nearly crashing into the table. He couldn't really mean her, could he? “Neal...”

“We could be good together.”

“I know.” She pressed her lips together tight, fighting for composure. “Why did you tell me?”

“I wasn't going to make this choice for you anymore. If we're going to be together, I want you to know everything I have to offer.”

Everything he had to offer now included hundreds of millions, maybe billions, in stolen gold and goods. This was insane.

“And what if I want to stay here on West 69th?” she challenged.

“I never said things had to be any different.”

She moved into his space. Her mouth grazed along his jaw first, then captured his lips with her own.

“Okay,” she said.

“You're all right with this?” he asked, surprise bare in his face and tone.

“Oh no. Not by a long shot.” Her hands trailed over his chest. “But you risked everything to be honest with me. And that's worth trying to see if I could be.”

“How about we start with dinner, and go from there?”

Sara nodded. “I'd like that.”

* * *

“Traitor!” Mozzie said when they meet the next day. “How soon can I expect a swarm of suits at my doorstep?”

“Relax, Moz. Sara's not going to tell.”

“She’s still the enemy, mon frere.”

Neal rolled his eyes as they set off through the park. “We're together. She's not handing me over.”

“You're going to have to cut ties with her eventually. I don't see the point in endangering ourselves when our days here are numbered, provided we find a way to sell the art without alerting the feds.”

“Speaking of feds,” Neal said, glad to seize any opening that got them away from arguing about Sara, “Peter and Diana are up to something. I videotaped their conversation.” Neal held out his phone and hit play.

“New Cézanne. They're talking about a new Cézanne,” Mozzie declared.

“You're sure?”

“It’s either that or they're talking about Miss Saigon. Which is more likely?” Mozzie added grumpily.

“We’ve got a pair of Cézannes in our stash.”

He nodded. “ _A Bridge Over a Pond_ and _The Mount of St. Victoria_. We need to find out what he's up to.”

“I'll do what I can.”

* * *

In what felt like an eternity later, that Friday night Neal got home from doing what he could, which included breaking into the Burkes’ home and lying to Mozzie about it. In one night, he’d betrayed everyone who mattered to him. His eyes fell on Sara’s sleeping form curled up on his bed, and he amended his previous thought. He'd betrayed _almost_ everyone who mattered. He wasn't entirely sure this was an improvement. Emotionally exhausted, he slipped into bed.

Sara stirred next to him. “Neal, what time is it?” she asked, her voice fogged with sleep.

“Late. Very late. I didn't mean to wake you.” He brushed away a strand of hair plastered to her cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

Sara shut her eyes, but they blinked back open a moment later. “No. Not when you're upset.”

“What makes you think I'm upset?”

“I know you,” she said, taking one of his hands in her own. “Come on, I'm awake now. Talk to me.”

Neal sighed. “I found Peter's partial list.”

“Do I want to know where you 'found' it?”

“Probably not.” Neal ran his thumb over her fingers. “What it means is I know exactly which pieces I could fence and get away with it.”

“Oh.”

“But.” Neal rolled to face Sara, cradling the hand he was holding against his chest. “I lied to Mozzie about it. Because I don't want to sell any of it. I want to stay, Sara.”

“Then we'll find a way.” She yawned. “You know Caffrey, if you expect me to keep this many secrets, you really should marry me.”

By the time Neal found a response to that, Sara had already fallen asleep. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes I should.”

* * *

In the morning, Sara and Neal are checking through the list together when Mozzie barged in. Neal slipped the copy of the list under the laptop while Sara drew Mozzie’s attention. “Mozzie, we talked about this. Knock first!”

Mozzie threw an annoyed glance in her direction. “There's no time! They know about the treasure! They're onto us.” He bustled into the room and tossed the newspaper in front of Neal.

It took all of Sara's composure to keep from bursting out laughing as Neal read aloud the Enquirer headline that was Mozzie's proof. “Does _she_ have to be here?” Mozzie asked jutting out his jaw in Sara's direction.

“Yes,” Neal stated emphatically. It made her feel good, but it wasn't necessary.

“I'll be over here.” Sara tuned out the rest of their banter, electing to go refill her coffee instead. She rejoined them as Mozzie said, “Let's just go. Vámonos.”

Sara glanced at Neal.

“We don't have the means,” Neal replied.

“We do if we sell the Degas.”

“That is too high profile.”

“The FBI only has a partial list. The odds are minuscule that the Degas is even on it.”

Or absolutely certain, Sara thought, and she realized she’d have to help Neal dissuade him. “I'm not ready yet.”

“We're taking her with us now? The half-suit gets a say?”

“Mozzie,” Neal said, warning in his tone. “If Sara wants to go, then yes.”

“Does she?”

Sara sidestepped the question with indignation. “ _She_ is right here. I'll need documents. ID, passports, whatever it is Neal has.”

“You two are impossible. I knew she was nothing but trouble,” Mozzie sputtered.

Sara chose to ignore that and Mozzie scurried out the door, slamming it behind him.

Neal turned to Sara. “I'm sorry about him.”

Sara waved it off. “Don't be. I'd rather he was angry with me than pressuring you.”

“So, you don't really want to go on the run?”

“No, of course not. But, he wasn't going to wait because of the list forever.” She flashed him a bright smile. “I just wanted to put another obstacle in his way.”

“Devious. I love it.” Neal grinned back.

“You would,” she teased. He leaned in and kissed her briefly.

“You had an even better idea last night,” he said as Sara retrieved the list so they could check the last few items.

“Getting married?” she chuckled. “I was tired. I was kidding!”

“I'm not. I think it's pretty obvious I'm all in.” He tapped the screen. “And I don't need another day to know that I want to be wherever you are.”

“You say that, and you still don't know whether you're running away or staying here,” Sara said wearily. “And don't you dare tell me you're sure you're staying. If you were, you could give Mozzie your half, or turn it in.”

She shot a half-hearted glare in Neal's direction, but he had his best boyish grin in place. “Come with me, Sara, whether it's up the block or halfway around the world.”

Her head spun. It was one thing not to turn Neal in. She couldn't, not after everything. But this? Run away with him? It was ridiculous. “How would that even work?”

“We just...go.”

“The whole world at our feet.”

“Yeah,” he said, as if it were that simple.

She turned away from him, dumping the last of her coffee down the sink, collecting her purse. “I...I don't know, Neal.” She checked her phone for the time. “I've got a meeting.”

“Sara, don't do this. Wait.”

“No, really, I'm going to be late.” She was saved from further contemplation of Neal's pleading blue eyes by Neal's phone buzzing in his pocket.

“That's probably Peter. You should get that,” she said. “We'll talk tonight.”

She ducked out as Neal picked up the phone. “Peter, not the best time. Sara and I—”

Peter cut him off firmly. “You might want to make time. It's about Keller.”

“Where should I meet you?” Neal headed for the door, sliding a jacket on as he went.

* * *

Sara had considered that being on the inner circle of one of Neal’s criminal activities might end up with her in front of law enforcement someday. She just didn’t expect it quite so soon, nor did she expect to ambushed simply walking down the street in the middle of the day.

The interrogation had her spooked badly, and not just because she was harboring a secret and had lied to an Interpol agent about it. There was something eerie about the whole exchange that she couldn't put her finger on.

Sara hated how long it took to get back to Neal's apartment. Getting around New York in a hurry was hard enough without the nagging worry she might be being followed. Every passing minute felt like an entirety.

Mozzie answered the door and she brushed past him, scanning the apartment. “Where's Neal?”

“Hello to you too,” he huffed.

Okay, so he was still mad about this morning. She did not have time for his games. “No, Mozzie, this is important.” She spun to face him.

“Have you tried calling him?

“I can't,” she said and had been about to explain further when Mozzie cut her off.

“You don't want to, or you're not physically capable of dialing a telephone?” He was actually scolding her. Unbelievable.

”Do you still sweep this place for bugs?”

“What do you think? You may speak freely within these walls.” He spread his hands in a gesture encompassing the apartment and Sara let out a short sigh of relief.

She filled him in on the Interpol agent, and that she'd had to give him the IP address of the treasure cam.

“See, this is why Neal never should have told you. For the exact reason that you're standing here right now.” He punctuated each word with a wave of his arms.

“Mozzie, stop it! I get that you're not thrilled with me knowing, but this is bigger than you and me.”

“You're right. I need to shut down the feed.” Mozzie shuffled the papers on Neal's table around and a familiar picture looked up at her.

“You already know about Agent Sloane.” Sara leaned over the table and pointed to the picture.

“ _That's_ who you met?”

“Yeah.”

“And you gave him the IP address?”

His tone scared her now. It was more stressed than he'd been this morning.

“Mozzie, what?”

“That's the one man that wants Neal dead.”

Pure horror crossed Sara's face. “An Interpol agent wants Neal dead?”

“No. His name is Matthew Keller. He's a talented thief, but unlike Neal, incredibly violent. He hates us and _you_ led him to right to our score and to Neal.”

“I'm sorry! I didn't know,” she said needlessly, fear and guilt making it hard to think. Neal was in danger because of her. Neal had enemies, deadly ones. What had she gotten herself into?

“Save it. Get yourself somewhere public. I need to secure the feed and warn Neal now.”

Not wanting to anger Mozzie any further or slow him down, Sara nodded and headed out, cancelling the rest of her day and milling about big tourist destinations for safety in numbers. She was jumpy and distracted, even unable to enjoy an afternoon in the park until her phone finally rang.

“Peter?” Sara's heart thundered in her ears as she answered. “Is Neal okay?”

“Neal's fine. He hasn't called you?” he sounded as surprised as she felt.

Sara forced her tone to neutral as she replied, “Not yet. Is that why you called?”

“I'd like you to come in, tell us about what happened with Keller. And we can set up some security detail for wherever you're staying.”

June was going to love that, Sara thought. “I'll be right there.”

* * *

When she arrived at the Bureau one cab ride later, Neal was the first person she saw and she didn't know whether to hug him or hit him.

She settled on the latter, running up and swatting him in the shoulder. “Peter called me in to make a statement about my meeting with Keller. _You_ should have called me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I'm so glad you're safe.” He pulled her in tight for a hug, and simultaneously whispered in her ear: “You need to be careful.”

She knew he wasn't just talking about Keller. “Neal, I'll be okay. I can handle this,” she assured him just as quietly.

Neal bit back whatever he was going to say and replaced it with: “I'll wait for you. We can ride home together.”

Sara smiled, and started off down the hall. “You, me, and our brand new security detail.”

“Ah, the glorious life of a consultant for the FBI,” Neal answered with a chuckle.

* * *

They're silent on the cab ride back to Riverside drive, both of them lost in thought.

Neal went to check the list as soon as they get in, already searching as Sara toed off her shoes. “The Degas, where’s the Degas? The Degas is missing.”

“No.” Sara moved over to look as Neal as scanned back and forth.

“Mozzie, what did you do?” Neal whispered at the screen.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Yeah,” Neal called.

Mozzie swept in and Sara decided to get out of their way. She didn't catch the whole conversation, but in spite of the shouting she was initially relieved that at least their lie to Mozzie was gone.

Or she was until she saw Neal pacing like a caged animal, more angry and more frightened than she'd ever seen him. Her heart ached for him.

“How bad is it?”

Neal startled at the sound of her voice, as though he'd forgotten she was there. “Bad.”

“Let's get you a drink.” She tugged Neal over to a chair and poured him a glass of his own wine.

“Listen, Sara, I'll understand if you want to cut out before you get caught up in this too. If I go down, there's no reason for you to get dragged down with me.”

Sara pushed a glass into his hands. “Noble of you. But Neal Caffrey doesn’t give up this easy. If you're going to let that side win, then I demand to know where that Raphael is.”

Neal cracked a smile at that. “Nice try. And wait, did you just refer to the FBI as the other side?”

“Calm down, Clyde. I haven't gone full Bonnie, just in this one very specific case, our interests might be...at odds.” Sara finished, before shaking her head. “Now, what do we have to do to keep us out all out of jail?”

“Oh just find Mozzie and convince him I'm not the Brutus to his Caesar. Then, track down whomever he fenced the Degas through. Get the fence to tell us who bought the painting, and finally steal or buy it back faster than Peter can find it.”

“Sounds like fun,” Sara said sarcastically, pouring her own glass of wine. “Why do we have to ‘find’ Mozzie? He literally just left.”

“After that argument? He’s going to make himself very difficult to find.”

* * *

As it turned out, Neal had managed to wrangle Mozzie back into the fold just in time for their next problem to begin, or so the look on his face was telling her as he charged into the apartment.

“Rough day?” Sara asked anyway.

“Understatement.” Neal groaned, rubbing his temples. “Peter's looking into our fence in conjunction with a case, with means still more duplicity, and Agent Kramer of DC Art Crimes is on in the Degas investigation.”

“What's Agent Kramer like?”

“Take Peter plus years of experience and less inclination to cut me slack.”

Sara made a face.

“And that doesn't even count the veiled threats.” Neal sighed heavily. “Tomorrow I get to spend quality time with him in the surveillance van. Please tell me your day was better.”

“It was less eventful. A couple of client meetings and Bryan McKenzie invited me to Beijing.” She laughed lightly.

“You go on a lot of trips for Sterling Bosch. Why is that funny?”

“I doubt Bryan intends to get much work done, is what’s funny.”

“I thought Bryan is your boss?”

“He is. V. P. of Sterling Bosch’s New York division. He’s just also an ex...fiancé.”

Neal’s eyes widen a fraction. “Can I ask how that started? Or ended? Or any part in the middle really.”

“Why? Are you jealous, Caffrey?” Sara laughed again, and Neal sagged a little.

“I’d prefer to call it curious. Come on, you know about Kate.”

“When I first started at Sterling Bosch, Bryan was still working the field. We broke cases together. Valuable objects, intriguing stories, exotic places.” She threw a touch of sultry emphasis into each word, enjoying messing with him a little.

“Okay. You’ve painted a picture. What happened to happily ever after?”

“Eventually, Bryan expressed his desire to expand Sterling Bosch beyond insurance. I didn’t agree with this direction, realized how different we were, and broke things off.”

“Oh. Does he know about us?”

“Does Peter? Maybe you’d like to take ad out in the paper? And which version of Bryan should know about my personal life: my boss or my ex?” Sara’s words come out sharp.

“Whatever version of him that’s inviting you to China?” Neal snapped.

“Are we fighting, Neal? I wasn’t planning on saying yes, you know.”

“No. At least I hope we’re not. I'm just tense. Fending off Mozzie, running to stay one step ahead of Peter and Agent Kramer, trying to make peace with my decision. It’s been a lot.” Neal mussed his hair, a squeak of frustration escaping his throat.

Sara enveloped him a long hug.

“What, no lecture about how I brought this on myself? Or how I could give up the treasure and this would all be over?” Neal said.

Sara pulled back, her arms still resting on his shoulders. “Would it do any good?”

“No, it's nothing I haven't said to myself already.”

“There's your answer then.” Sara pulled away from him. “Mozzie briefed me on the hourglass. He also brought these by.”

She tossed him a large ziploc bag underhand. Neal caught it and jostled the contents. “Your identity package. For...” he shook it a bit more until he could read the name on them. “Stephanie Moreau.”

Sara smiled. “I guess it's Mozzie's way of saying he approves. It would be sweet...”

“If we weren't about to let him down hard? I know.” Neal turned to face the table and watched some of the sand slowly drain to the bottom. Mozzie was demanding a decision: _pick a side._

Sara joined him in silent contemplation for a moment.

“Does it actually get easier?” she finally asked.

“Does what?”

“Looking at your face with another name attached, packing up and leaving your life behind?”

Neal hopped up to sit on the counter. “That depends on what you are leaving behind.”

Sara shook her head. “You know Mozzie had me practice my new name in the mirror?”

“How’d it feel?”

“Foolish mostly.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Not up for becoming Mrs. Moreau anytime soon?”

“No, but it did make me rethink what it might be like to be Mrs. Caffrey.”

“And?” Neal asked hopefully.

“If we leave now to pick up the certificate, we can get the wedding in around the same time that runs out?” She pointed at the hourglass.

“I am definitely not complaining, but why so soon?”

“We can always redo a larger reception again later, once you're free...of everything.” Sara waved vaguely at the anklet. “This will be about us. Besides, how mad can be Mozzie be at his best friend’s wedding?”

“You've met Mozzie, right? To him, marriages are just another tool of ‘the man’ that shackles us all.”

“Uh huh. 'Stephanie Moreau' begs to differ.” She shot Neal an exasperated look that faded to a smile. “Besides, Mozzie wants you to be happy. He just has a very different vision for what your happiness looks like.”

“Well, right now your vision is definitely closer to mine.”

Sara tilted her head to one side. “Close, but not exact?”

“Mine has both of us wearing a lot fewer clothes.” Neal hopped down from the counter and crossed over to Sara, pulling her to him. The rest of the world could wait. He had an engagement to celebrate.

* * *

After a trip to the marriage licensing bureau, an awkward phone call to Peter, a successful multilayered art con, and a daring parachute dive off of a building, Neal finally found himself back in his apartment, flanked by two of the people he loved most.

Wine in hand, basking in the glow of victory, ready to start the next chapter of his life, Neal felt it would have been perfect.

If not for the way Mozzie was staring intently at the hourglass. “I’ve been _really_ patient, but it’s time for you to make a choice. Do you wanna leave or not?”

“No.” Neal said with the slightest shake of his head. “There are things about this life I'm not ready to give up.” Sara threaded her fingers through his free hand in a show of silent support.

“Do you even know what this life is anymore?” Mozzie gestured toward the anklet. “I mean you're on a leash. You’re still in prison. You have Stockholm syndrome.”

Neal’s eyes shot down to the floor. “I can always walk out that door, Moz. I can never walk back in.” He set down the glass as he spun to face Mozzie, who was making his way to the door.

“Well then you made your choice,” Mozzie said with false brightness. “I always thought ours would be a happy ending.”

“But I am _happy_ , Moz. I'm getting married.”

“Married?” Mozzie turned his annoyed glare on Sara. “I should have known this was Sara’s fault. How long were you two plan—”

Neal didn't bother to let him finish. “A lot less time than you think. A lot less than Sara thinks too,” he added. “But that doesn't matter. Come with us.”

“Neal, I'm happy for you. I am,” he protested as Neal opened his mouth to interrupt. “But I'm not staying. I said with or without you, and I meant it.”

Neal deflated visibly. “Right, yeah.”

Sara took a couple steps toward the door. Not quite enough to block Mozzie's path, but enough to make him look at her. ”Come to the wedding, Mozzie, please.”

“And what would I do then?” Mozzie sneered. “Pretend to be happy as you let Neal ruin his life?”

“You don't mean that,” Sara managed to say, even though it stung.

“Because you know me so well.”

Neal ran a hand through his hair. “The treasure is yours, Moz. It always should have been yours, probably. Parts unknown isn't going anywhere in the next couple of hours. Stay. Have cake and wine. Curse my name from a tropical paradise tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” Mozzie said, simply sounding sad. “You win.”

Neal wanted to say something more, but Sara was already brightening, shooing them both out of the room. “Go. Go downstairs. I have to change.”

He and Mozzie stepped out into the hall. The door shut behind them heavily.

“You’re fooling yourself if you think this is who you really are.” The words landed like a punch to the midsection and Neal blinked rapidly to keep from tearing up. Mozzie, without another word, took off for the main floor toward the room that was serving as the venue.

It just made sense that they hosted their almost impromptu ceremony at June's. Elizabeth had promised to throw Neal and Sara a grand reception whenever they were ready, but with everything going on between him and Peter, it didn't feel as though he could really expect the Burkes' help or their attendance.

In light of Mozzie's dig, Neal felt like he'd chosen the wrong best friend to be with him. He patted each of his pockets only to discover he left his cellphone up in his apartment. He briefly considered charging back up there to get it, but the impulse passed. Everyone was waiting, Sara probably needed a moment to herself, and if Peter wanted to come he would have come. Neal made excuses for himself until he stepped through the double doors and the sight of the room took all other thoughts away.

It was gorgeous. Half of the room had been cleared for a dance floor and the altar with the piano moved into place off to one side. The walls had been filled out with a selection of artwork worthy of a museum, including at least one Monet he’d need a closer look at later. The chairs and table were draped in ivory and gold fabric and a cloched cake platter sat waiting in the middle. Even the tableware gleamed.

June made her way to him. “There's the man of the hour. How did I do?”

“It's stunning, June. Almost as pretty as the woman who put it together.” Neal took her hand, and June twirled elegantly under his arm.

“Thank you, dear. Will anyone else be joining us besides the bride? I wasn't sure how many places to set.”

Neal's smile faltered slightly as he said, “No. All accounted for.”

June pulled him in for a second hug. “He'll come around. They both will.” Pulling away she added, louder, “I'm off to rescue your officiant from Mozzie. Help yourself to champagne!”

An indignant “what?” from across the room meant Mozzie was already in better spirits. Maybe June and Sara were right that they could both get past this. There had been a time not so long ago when Neal also wouldn't have been able to imagine anything was more important than chasing the next thrill or landing the next big score. But this, here, building a life with some roots to it meant more than any other score ever had. Watching Mozzie laugh with June, Neal dared to hope that something might have started to tether Moz to New York too.

And then, it felt like just seconds before June was ushering him into place at the end of the aisle, next to the officiant.

Neal had thought the room and June's ensemble had been lovely, but neither held a candle to the sight of Sara as she stepped through the double doors. The gold wrap dress wasn't a significant departure from Sara's usual style, though Neal adored the hat. Its shade matched the dress, with a wide navy ribbon.

“There, now we match,” Sara said beaming at him.

“You went vintage, where'd you get it?”

“From me,” June said. “Byron's not the only one with old clothes. Besides with Mozzie and I taking care of the new and old, Sara still needed borrowed and blue. If you can forgive one old lady's superstitions.”

“I'm honored to wear them,” Sara told her.

Neal had always loved Byron's clothes, but today of all days these hand-me-downs felt imbued with love and significance. “Thank you, June, really.”

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

Sara spun in front of Neal. “Well Caffrey? Still worth a few billion dollars?”

“Is that why you picked gold? Because you're the only treasure I'll ever need.”

“Oh god, it sounds so much cheesier when you say it out loud, but yeah that was the thought.”

Sensing Sara seemed ready to die of mortification, Neal tried again. “You're priceless, but someone should have something commissioned to preserve this kind of beauty forever.”

“Then it's a good thing I know an artist.”

Neal chuckled, before turning to the man at the podium. “We're ready now.”

The officiant cleared his throat. “People who throw middle-of-the-night weddings at June's don't hire me for the flowery speeches; they hire me because I'm good at keeping my trap shut. I can say this much. Marriage is two basic things: a sacrifice and a commitment. I don't know much about you two crazy kids, but something tells me you've given up a helluva lot to be here. So with that in mind, what do you commit to?”

Sara spoke up first. “Neal, I promise you my love, and with it my understanding, no matter how insane the journey you drag us on is. I commit to protecting you, as best as I can.”

Neal dug through the standard love, honor, obey version of vows searching for something real. It would mean nothing to promise Sara fidelity. She had that. It seemed disingenuous under the circumstances to speak of sacrifice. Both for richer or poorer, in good times and in bad were fraught subjects.

Then, suddenly, looking deep into Sara's eyes, he knew exactly what to say.

“Sara, I commit to trust. To trusting you, and to being worthy of yours. I hope that is something we grow into more everyday. I vow to do the right thing, no matter how difficult. And finally, should something happen that will tear us apart, I promise you a goodbye.”

“Sara, do you undertake these promises freely and without reservation?”

She nodded vigorously. “I do.”

“Neal, do you undertake these promises freely and without reservation?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Neal said, his eyes never leaving Sara's.

“Then by the power vested in me, by the Unitarian Life Church, I declare you may seal your vows with a kiss.”

* * *

Later, after an hors d'oeuvres style dinner and cake had been eaten, Frank Sinatra crooned from June’s records. Neal and Sara swayed along to the music alone. June had headed to bed and Mozzie slipped away into the night.

Neal had a thousand yard stare, so Sara asked, “Neal, are you not having a good time?”

“I am. I was just thinking.”

“About?” she prompted.

“Maybe you should go to Beijing?”

“What? _That's_ what you're thinking about on our wedding night? I'm practically offended, Caffrey.”

“It’s just I recognized I have made some pretty big asks of you the last few weeks. I mean, we were just married by a man who calls himself Knuckles. If you need some space, or just want to see China, or don’t want to deal with finding an excuse for Bryan, I’d understand.”

“You mean that?”

“I trust you, Sara. Isn't that what this relationship supposed to be about, trusting each other? So if you want to go, go. One of us deserves a honeymoon anyway.”

Sara pressed closer, stealing a long kiss to refocus his attention. “I'll take that under advisement. Now, I don't want to talk about Bryan, or Beijing, or Mozzie, or the FBI, or anything that isn't us. Understand?”

“How about if we stop talking altogether?” he suggested, desire in his eyes.

“Normally, I'd object.”

“But tonight?”

“I'll race you upstairs.”

It was a chaotic assent, full of laughter and lingering kisses. At the apartment, there were even more pauses as they break apart to shuck an item of clothing before their lips are on each other's again. Drunk on happiness and haphazard making out, it was all too easy to miss the frantic buzzing of Neal's phone on the dresser, missing calls and messages piling up in his phone. Similarly, Sara's phone vibrated away in her bag.

“Do you want to get that?” Neal asked, still popping buttons on his shirt as Sara fell back on the bed. She leaned up to nip at his throat, hooking an arm around his waist to pull him after her.

“Not a damn chance.”

* * *

Neal woke to the sound of someone pounding at his apartment door.

He carefully disentangled himself from Sara, pulling the covers up around her.

“Caffrey, if you don’t open this damn door in the next thirty seconds, I’m breaking it down.”

What on Earth was Diana doing here in the middle of the night, much less threatening to break his door down? “I’m coming, Diana! Just let me put on pants before you radically change the nature of our relationship.”

“Fine. Still counting.”

He jumped into his slacks from the night before, and raced to the door, still buttoning them as he pulled it open.

A red-eyed Diana breezed inside. “I wouldn’t have done it this way, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Wedding night,” Neal explained with a gesture toward the bed.

“Really? Wait, never mind. I’ll congratulate you later. Right now, we need to get to the Bureau.”

“The Bureau?” Sara asked, sitting up in bed. “It’s three AM.”

“It’s Elizabeth. Keller’s taken Elizabeth,” Diana explained. Neal’s mouth went dry, his ears rang as though a gun had gone off in the room. Sara scrambled out of bed, tying a blanket around herself. She pulled a still frozen Neal with her into the closet. He snapped back to reality enough to get dressed. Sara pulled down a bag and started tossing other clothes into it indiscriminately as Neal twisted to find a tie.

“I think I'll go to Beijing,” she said, and he nodded. Neal wanted to offer something more responsive than that, but an actual talk would require time, precious time they don't have.

Neal charged out of the closet, Sara a few seconds behind him. He took her bag from her and hauled it toward Diana's car. They piled in.

On the way there, Diana filled him in on what they knew, which wasn't much. Elizabeth had been taken hours ago, around the time he and Sara had been dancing to “New York”. Keller had claimed responsibility for the abduction, and most importantly to Diana, Peter seemed to know Keller wanted, but wouldn't tell her.

Most importantly to Neal, it confirmed that Diana didn't know for certain this was all his fault.

“You have the damn treasure, don't you?” she asked.

“What did Peter say when you asked him that?”

“The less I know the better.”

“I agree with him on this one.”

Sara glared at him, and he added for her benefit, “I'm not about to contradict the man whose wife has been kidnapped.”

Diana shook her head. “Well, that's a yes.”

“There is nothing I won't do to reunite Peter with Elizabeth,” he said, promising as much to himself as to the two women.

Diana turned her attention to Sara. “Given your connection to this case, you're entitled to protective custody. We want to make sure Keller can't go after anyone else.”

“Would it be possible to get a ride to the airport instead? I'm expected in Beijing.”

“Sure,” Diana said, shooting Neal a questioning glance as she hung a right. “We can do that.”

“Are we okay?” He couldn't help but ask Sara.

She nodded stiffly, and he leaned over and kissed her.

“Don't worry about me. Just fix it,” ordered Sara.

Neal nodded. “I will.”

Neal shifted his attention back to his phone, starting to work his way through Mozzie contact methods, cursing quietly every time he reached another dead email or disconnected number.

“Dammit, he's going to ground. This is not the time.”

Sara seized her own phone and dialed, gasping in relief as Mozzie's voice came through the other end. She hit speakerphone and Mozzie's voice filled the car: “There is no way Neal got himself in trouble in four hours.”

“It's Keller. Keller took Elizabeth, Moz.” Neal said, as he accepted the phone from her. “No games, I promise. We're all on our way to the FBI now. Can you meet us there?”

“For Elizabeth, of course.”

Neal clicked off speakerphone and pressed the phone to his ear as he asked, “Are you still in New York?” He was half afraid the answer would be no, and they would have to wait for him.

“It's moved; I haven't, Mozzie answered anticipating Neal's next question as well. “I was angry. But Neal?” His voice softened. “We'll make it right.”

* * *

They did. It took twelve hours from the time Neal hugged Sara goodbye on the sidewalk in front of the federal building until the moment Peter could pull his own wife close.

In twelve hours, the rest of the FBI had found Elizabeth. Meanwhile, Neal, Peter, and Mozzie had pulled off quite the con both with and against Keller. They'd won in the end, and better still, Neal had taken the first shaky step toward repairing his relationships with Moz and Peter both.

The moment was a victory to be sure, but years of con artistry had made it easy to see all the way it had gone wrong. All the ways it could have been worse. He'd been forced to fire a gun, a Raphael had been destroyed, and some guards could have been killed. The worst case scenario of all should have been the possibility that they might not found Elizabeth in time.

But even more frightening than that was the cold and simple truth that Keller was already planning how to come at them again.

Neal had to stop it. He was the only one who could guarantee that Keller didn't get the chance to try.

And he would, even if it meant a complete sacrifice. Decision made, he had to tell Sara.

“Neal?” she asked as the call connected.

The image of Sara that appeared on his phone screen was heartbreaking. Her clothes and hair were rumpled, though the circles under her eyes proved she hadn't slept. He suspected the redness to her eyes had as much to do with frequent tears as lack of sleep.

“Have you been up this whole time?” he asked.

“I slept a little on the plane. But, otherwise, yes of course. I wanted to be here in case you called.” She waved away the concern. “Please tell me everything's okay.”

“Good news first: Elizabeth is back home and safe. No else was hurt.” Neal left out the two blows he'd sustained to the head. It wasn't the time; besides, he'd been cleared by the hospital. “I just left her and Peter.”

“Then why don't you look happy? You saved the day. This can't be about the treasure...”

“It's not. Keller has to be put away, Sara.”

“Of course he should.”

“Sara, wait, please,” he begged. He needed to get out the part she wasn't seeing before his resolved crumbled to nothing.

She nodded.

“I know one way to make sure that happens. I'm going to have to confess. Peter will help me keep your name out of it, and he can destroy the paperwork.”

“That's not what I'm worried about. Wait, tear up our marriage license, you mean?”

“Well, yeah, you don't strike me as the ‘wait for me’ type.”

“Go to hell, Neal.” She broke into fresh tears.

“I asked that of someone once before, and I wouldn't expect you to...Sara, please don't cry.”

“How could you let me go away when you were planning on this? Was being here with Bryan supposed to make this easier?”

“I wasn't planning on any of this. I didn't think—”

"No, you didn't," she said, echoing Peter from the night before. It hurt as much, if not more, than it did then.

“You don't understand. Keller promised never to stop. He'll come after Elizabeth again. After you, it could have been _you_. I can't let him hurt anyone again. No matter the cost.”

Sara was silent for a moment. He might have thought the call had frozen, if not for the steady stream of tears pouring off her cheeks. “You're right,” she declared finally with a shuddering breath. “I just hate it.”

“Me too.” Neal was cut off as the door to Sara's room opened with a clang.

“Sara? I brought breakfast!” Because of course the kind of man who taught sunrise tai chi would eat breakfast in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. Bryan's voice was just loud enough to be heard on Neal's end of the line, as he asked, “Have you been crying?”

“Observant of you, Mr. Mackenzie,” Neal muttered.

Sara mopped hastily at her face. She disappeared from view for a moment, speaking too low for Neal to hear, then reappeared. “I'll get rid of him.”

Neal shook his head and the movement sent a fresh headache blooming in his skull. “I have to go anyway. I need to be at the Bureau early, before everyone gets there. Otherwise, I'd be arrested in front of the whole field office.”

“Right, you don't deserve that. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Neal's hand hovered over disconnect for a moment, but he thought better of it. “I'll have Peter call you, once all the arrangements are made. In case you want to know where I'll be.”

“Of course I want to know. Dammit.” Neal saw Bryan walk into frame and Sara quickly minimized the call.

“Who's on the phone?”

“No one.” Neal knew she was only saying that to avoid making him a discussion between her and Bryan, but it hurt anyway.

“ _No one_ was making you cry, right.”

“I'm just jet-lagged, okay?”

Sara must have collected her phone and headed into the ensuite because Neal could hear water running as she said. “Take care of yourself, Caffrey.”

“I'll try,” he promised, and she disconnected.

* * *

The glass doors felt heavy as Neal pulled them open the next morning. Each step felt longer than normal as he passed Jones and Diana's desks on his condemned man's march toward Peter's office.

“Morning Neal,” Peter said from his place behind his desk.

“Morning. How's Elizabeth?” The inquiry was both curiosity and served as a reminder to himself of what's at stake. He couldn't forget he was doing the right thing.

“She's well. Considering.”

Peter didn't need to finish that sentence. Considering your thoughtlessness nearly got us both killed. Considering your greed put her at risk. Even the black eye Peter was wearing served as a silent rebuke.

“I know what I've done, and I know what I need to do to take Keller down. I'm ready to make a full confession.” Neal stepped toward the desk with purpose.

“You know what that'll mean?” checked Peter.

“I do,” Neal confirmed with a nod.

“Are you sure? You're willing to give up everything?”

“Yes. Even checked with Sara. I promised you'd call her. I know the FBI doesn't typically grant last requests, but...” he trailed off and the moment of levity evaporated.

“I'd grant that one.” Peter agreed. “Before you go any further though, I want to show you something.”

“Peter, please I need to get this out now.” Pleading crept into Neal's voice. Too much waiting and the weight of all he was about to lose threatened to swallow his resolve whole.

“Watch,” ordered Peter.

The screen behind Neal lit up with Keller's face.

“What is this?”

“Keller's interrogation from last night.”

And Neal did watch as Keller took credit for everything, leveraged Mozzie's score to solve his own problems with the Russians. If he hadn't completely loathed Keller by now, he might have admired the clever play.

Disappointment at not being able to put Keller away warred with relief at the thought his confession was no longer necessary.

“I know what you were prepared to do. And it means a lot that you were willing to do it,” Peter said.

“What happens now?”

Diana appeared as the answer to that question. “Peter, you're gonna want to see this. Trust me.”

Peter strode forward and collected the paper from her. His face twisted in confusion as he read it. He glanced at Neal, to the paper and back again.

And then Peter read the commutation letter aloud, and for the fourth time in as many days, Neal's life changed irrevocably.

“What does it mean?” Neal asked, hearing the words but not quite able to believe them.

“It means no anklet. No nothing. In three months you could be a free man,” elaborated Peter.

In the span of ten minutes he'd gone from looking at years of jail time to contemplating complete freedom. “You have to call my wife.” The word still felt strange in his mouth and he smiled saying it.

“Me?” Peter looked taken aback. “Isn't this the sort of news you should deliver?”

“Peter, think. Last night I told her I was going away for a long time. If I call up talking about my commutation now. I'll look...”

“Insane? Like you're pulling the worst prank ever? Like you've devised some sort of con?” Diana supplied in rapid succession.

“Yes any of those.” He shot a soft glare at Diana. “Please, Peter. I know the last thing I've done is earn a favor, but consider this an investment in someone who wants me out of trouble almost as much as you do.”

“Fine. But we are _not_ good. That clear?”

“Like crystal.”

“Out,” Peter pointed through the door.

“Going.”

Only after Neal had gone did Peter pick up the phone.

“Sara, it's Peter. Neal said I should call because otherwise you'd never believe what happened, and honestly, he may have a point...”

“Peter, what is it?”

“Well, first, Neal doesn't need to go back to prison.”

“He doesn't? But I thought it was the only way—”

“So did we,” Peter assured her. “But Keller confessed to taking the treasure for his own reasons, and only five people know otherwise.”

“You're going to lie for him?” Sara asked.

“I haven't made that decision yet,” Peter admitted. “But there's more. Thanks to Neal's illustrious service while on loan to the FBI, including catching one Matthew Keller, he's become eligible for early release.”

“You're saying Neal could go free? Only Caffrey.”

“In as little as three months, you could be married to a free man,” Peter confirmed. “Congratulations on that, by the way.”

“Thanks, and thank you for calling. I appreciate being kept in the loop. And you can tell Neal he was right. I wouldn't have believed him.”

“I don't think I will. His ego is big enough already.” They both chuckled at that and said their goodbyes.

Sara’s head spun as she hung up the call and not just from the alcohol she had inadvisably consumed earlier that day. Was life with Neal always going to be such a whirlwind?

She decided to go back to her room to down several glasses of water and fall asleep early. Talking to Neal could wait until she had her head on straight. Only when she got to her hotel room, she found Bryan sprawled across her bed, typing away on a laptop. She glanced at the file and saw it was about a Stradivarius.

“Bryan, what’re you doing in my room?”

“You invited me,” he replied, his fingers still moving over the keys.

Her brow furrowed. “I did?”

“Yeah, when I bought you your fourth drink this morning. Want to tell me what that was about?”

“No. You’re working a case?” she asked as much to change the subject as she was curious.

“Yeah. About a violin. I’ve got it handled.” He saved the information to the Sterling Bosch database and shut down the computer awfully fast for her liking.

“You’re sure? I could help,” she offered.

“I’ve got it. But if you're eager to spend time together, there are other things I could use your help with.” Bryan smiled at her in a way that felt as nauseating as her liquid lunch.

Even for him, that was an inelegant transition. “No, thank you. I'm going to bed. Headache.”

“Message received. At least come with me to the symphony tomorrow. I got the tickets for you.”

Sara was about to decline again, when her investigator instincts piqued. Bryan was definitely up to something. “I’d like that,” she said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. She accepted a kiss on the cheek as she saw Bryan out.

She fell asleep until nearly noon Beijing time, and woke up to two missed calls and a text from Neal, that read: _I got accidentally roped into teaching a class while undercover. English Lit. Spouting poetry at teenagers is fun._

Deciding against starting a conversation in the middle of the night New York time, Sara waited to shoot off a reply as she left for the symphony. _Wish I could have seen that._

Later she emerged from the auditorium to the following reply: _Update: I think I have a teenage admirer._

She dashed off _You better be careful with her, heartbreaker ;)_.

She smiled at the _I’m always careful_ she received right before she fell asleep.

Sara genuinely meant to call Neal, but investigating Bryan under his nose meant spending a lot of time with him. She couldn’t risk texting Neal when Bryan was around. Bryan was already paranoid—thanks to whatever hole he’d dug for himself—and Sara didn’t want the nosy jealous bastard sniffing around Neal. What little remained of her free time was spent chasing the first leads she had. As a result, Neal’s texts began to pile up unanswered.

> _Case closed. Teenage girl's affections refocused to very deserving teenage boy. Mozzie actually helped._
> 
> _Elizabeth found our newest case. She's pretty sure her neighbors are planning a heist._
> 
> _She might be right._
> 
> _She was definitely right. Also, she got to impersonate an FBI agent. When I do that, it's a crime._

She'd barely noticed a week and a half had gone by until she woke up to _I miss you._

She called him immediately. “Neal, I am so sorry. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I lost track of time.”

“You're right, that does.” Neal sounded irritated, and while the rational side of her brain acknowledged he had every right to be, his next words shattered her good will. “Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain someone and an exotic location, would it?”

It had everything to do with Bryan, of course, but not in the way Neal was insinuating. “I picked up a case,” she said. “Neal, I would never cheat on you, and honestly I'm hurt that you considered it.”

“Right, because I'm the dishonest one,” he said petulantly.

“No. Because I would hope you know me better than that. I promise what has me distracted is work. I'll be home in another few days and I'll be able to explain then.”

* * *

Another week passed for Neal, and his only contact with Sara was another call where she let him know that she'd landed in New York, and apologized that work would keep her away for a few more days. So Neal had been in no mood to hear from Peter that he was being lent out, but rounding the corner to see Sara waiting on a bench for them was a great surprise.

“You're loaning me to my wife? Best day at work, yet.” Neal grinned at Peter. “Maybe Elizabeth should have birthdays more often.”

Neal gave her a hug which rapidly became a lengthy kiss.

Peter stood awkwardly by until they parted, then looked at Sara. “I can still trust you'll keep him in line?”

“I'm in charge. He's my headache,” she said, her tone tinged with amusement.

Neal's joy dissolved. “Ouch. Okay, I’m starting to rethink this as a good idea.”

“Too late. You kids have fun.” Peter looked a little too pleased for Neal's liking, as he turned to walk away.

“You’re leaving?” Neal asked.

“Sara will fill you in. _She’s_ the boss on this one.”

Neal turned expectantly toward Sara. “So is this the big case that's been keeping you away?”

“Yes, actually.” She brandished a file in his direction. “Meet our suspect: Bryan Mackenzie.”

Neal swallowed his surprised and studied the file for a moment. “You suspect your boss-slash-ex is mixed up with a missing Stradivarius?”

“He doesn’t work the field anymore, but he took the violin on as a case, and then it went missing. It doesn’t add up. It’s pre-1700s but sells for less. Still valuable, but that doesn’t explain why Bryan is interested in it.”

“Well, when was it reported missing?”

“That’s just the thing. It wasn’t. And I only know about it because I saw Bryan creating a file on it. He said he would have handled by the end of the weekend and then he changed the subject.”

“If he thinks he has it handled, then he already has a head start.”

“Well, he’s been working from home for the last couple of days and hasn't left once, except to teach his daily tai chi class.”

“You’ve been following him instead of spending time with me?”

“If Bryan is doing something illegal, he’s putting my entire division at risk.”

“And with it, your job. Okay, I get it.”

“Well, yes, and a lot of people’s jobs. Now, unfortunately, I have to keep up appearances at work, but we’ll reconvene tomorrow at eight AM.” Sara walked away.

“Whoa, whoa, eight AM on a Saturday?” Neal whined.

She spun to face him, a mischievous look in her eyes. “How about if I come over later tonight and help be your alarm clock?”

* * *

After a very pleasant evening and morning, in which Sara proved she'd missed Neal as much as he had her, the rest of Neal's doubts about Beijing and Sara's radio silence faded. He stepped into the FBI building, bright and early on Saturday, refreshed. Both Jones and Diana waited by a desk.

"She roped you into this too?” Neal asked, and Sara playfully shoved him.

“Peter said to help her legally so you wouldn’t have to illegally,” Jones explained. “We are trying to pinpoint exactly when the Stradivarius went missing.”

“The symphony recently returned from a tour in China. Now the Strad is listed as one of the items they took through Customs so it must have disappeared when they got here to New York,” Diana put in.

Sara nodded in agreement. “The interesting part is that Bryan and I were in Beijing the same time the symphony was. He sent the violin before he travelled, and we were detained by Customs on the way back. I told them what I knew, which was little, and Bryan left detention after a few hours.”

“According to Customs he came back clean,” Jones added to where Sara left off. “So they won’t divulge their interest in him.”

“Maybe his files have the answer. He’s been working from home. We could pay a visit,” suggested Neal.

“You know a thing or two about making house calls, don’t you, Neal? And if it isn’t Mrs. Caffrey. Social visit or business?” Kramer asked turning toward Sara.

“Sara Ellis, actually, and Neal’s helping out Sterling Bosch on this one.”

“Agent Kramer," Neal greeted him with false warmth. "Good to see you again.”

“Peter didn’t tell you I was coming?” Kramer asked in a way that made that sound suspicious.

“He told me.” Diana stepped in, and Neal had rarely been more grateful to be rescued. “I’ll be helping you while you’re here.”

“Good. I’ll be seeing you around, Neal.” Agent Kramer breezed past him, purposely close as to force Neal to move out of his way.

Neal waited until he was gone to ask Jones. “Why’s Kramer here?”

“More importantly, how did he find out about us?” asked Sara.

“I don’t know. What I do know is I’m not letting you break into Bryan’s apartment,” Jones replied.

“No one said anything about breaking in. I have a key.” Sara held it up.

Neal frowned at her. “Why do you still have a key to your ex-fiancé’s apartment?”

“Neal, do you really want to do this here?” she asked.

“No,” he conceded.

“Good, then let’s go.”

A short drive later, and Neal watched as Sara let them both in to Bryan’s place.

“So, can you answer my question now?”

“I don’t know, Neal. You held on to a multi-billion dollar exit door to our relationship. I kept a key. Think we're even?”

“Touché.”

They searched Bryan’s apartment in comfortable silence after that, the last of the awkwardness dissipating. “Well, we might not know where Bryan hid the Strad, but we know where he’s going to be this afternoon.” He held the tickets out for her to inspect.

“First Beijing, now this. I don’t get it. Bryan _hates_ the symphony.”

Neal noticed the movement on the security camera. “We’ve got to go.”

“To the symphony?”

“We’ve got to _go,_ go. Bryan’s home early.” Neal started toward the door but Sara dragged him back. “You can’t go that way.”

Sara hauled him into an alcove. “Sara, we can’t.” She put a finger to his lips.

“My purse!” She dashed out, snatching it up just as Bryan came up the stairs.

“Sara, what are you doing here?”

“I, uh.” She laughed to buy herself a second to think of an excuse. “I think you know why I’m here.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Okay. I missed you.” Sara continued her mock flirtation long enough for Neal to retrieve the surveillance tapes from the globe, and as a bonus, managed to get Bryan to think inviting her to the symphony was his idea.

She’d been pleased with herself right up until her and Neal reconvened on their way back to the FBI. “‘I knew you’d be back,’ seriously? And he called you a girl.”

“Okay, yes, Bryan is cringeworthy. Please don’t rub it in,” Sara begged.

“What did you see in him? Was it just the abs? The bad boy vibe?”

“Neal, stop. We’re still on a case.”

“Oh my god, you are that shallow.” Neal laughed.

She kissed him to make him stop. “I chose all right in the end, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

The rest of the pieces of Neal’s side of the plan were slightly more complicated but doable. Once the surveillance tapes confirmed the stolen violin, Diana readily agreed to tag along to the symphony, and June was able to help Neal forge the tickets. It filled the time until he met Diana at the front gate.

He held out a corsage. “I chose white. It goes with everything.”

“Thanks!”

“What do you say we listen to music, stand around awkwardly, and wait for the night to end?” Neal suggested, as part of their ongoing prom metaphor.

“Sara and Bryan look cozy.” Neal followed Diana’s gaze to where across the way, Sara stood uncomfortably close to Bryan laughing at some joke he’d made.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Neal said tersely, before changing the subject. “Bryan just snuck through the metal detector.”

“He’s definitely not here for the concert.” agreed Diana.

As they make their way to their seats, Neal said, “I’ll keep an eye on Bryan. Go check on Sara.” They split off, and Neal bumped into Bryan, who identified him.

“I usually pride myself on keeping a lower profile. What gave me away?” Neal wondered.

“A who actually. My girlfriend, she was after you for a stolen Raphael.”

Sara waved half-heartedly from her seat.

“Spent a lot of late nights on you,” complained Bryan.

“Enjoying the show?” Diana asked Sara.

“I’m only interested in one instrument here. Not in watching them swing theirs. Did you clock Bryan avoiding security?” Sara asked in return.

“Yup,” Diana answered.

Meanwhile, Bryan and Neal continued to bicker. “I guess I was the spark she needed to escape a monotonous routine.”

Bryan nodded. “Until she realized fireworks don’t have a lasting flame.”

“You know the nice thing about fireworks is there’s usually a second show.”

Bryan laughed at that, as Sara and Diana joined them.

“You boys look like you’re getting along,” Sara said.

“Famously," Bryan replied, snaking an arm around Sara's waist. “You remember Neal, sweetie.”

“He’s hard to forget.”

“It’s nice to see you, Sara.”

“You don’t mind if they join us for drinks, do you?” Bryan asked Sara.

I can't think of anything more fun,” Diana said with actual glee. At least one of them was having a good time. “I'm Diana, by the way.” She stuck out a hand, which Bryan ignored.

“Great,” he said with a snort. “We’ll find you after the show.” Bryan led Sara away.

“At least we know Bryan isn’t meeting up with Annie anytime soon,” Neal whispered. It was a fairly minor consolation prize compared to _not_ spending even more time watching his wife pretend to date her ex, but he’d take it.

“Right,” Diana said as she and Neal made their way back to their seats in time for the symphony to start.

Partway through the show Bryan got up and left.

“Come on, we’ve got to follow him,” Diana whispered.

“Right.” Once they were out in the hall, Neal’s phone buzzed. “Jones I was about to call you. We followed Bryan to the bathroom. What's up?”

Jones gave him the lead about Room 207, and they immediately head there to find a corpse. Dammit, they were too late.

“Can I text Sara?” he asked Diana as soon as she'd finished updating Jones.

“You know anything you say would only put her at risk this close to Bryan.”

“That's my point, Diana. She's standing right next to a murderer!”

“I know.” She put a hand on his shoulder. "We're calling in the cavalry to do a sweep, and we'll personally have eyes on Bryan and Sara until backup arrives. She'll be safe, Neal. Let's get back out there.”

Meanwhile, Bryan slid back to his seat, smiling a little too hard. “Miss me?”

“Always,” Sara replied.

Bryan threw an arm around her shoulders. Sara just barely resisted shrugging it off. They were still sitting that way when the doors burst open and shouts of “FBI! Everyone remain calm!” filled the auditorium. She scanned the crowd for Neal and Diana but couldn't find them before she was directed into a line to be searched.

Behind her, Bryan was livid. Initially refusing to cooperate and then demanding “to know the meaning of this outrage” he sounded both cartoonish and frightening. She was relieved when an agent pulled her aside with an excuse of ‘further questioning’ and led her to the car where Jones, Diana, and Neal were waiting.

Neal drew her into a hug that was overly tight. “I'm fine, Neal, really. Why the concern?”

“Bryan killed someone over the Stradivarius. Neal had a hard time leaving you alone with a murderer,” Diana informed her.

“Even when alone includes a half dozen FBI agents and police,” Jones teased him.

Sara took Neal’s hand squeezed it. “I'm guessing from Bryan’s reaction, he didn't get what he wanted?”

“We still don't know what it is Bryan wants,” Diana said.

* * *

Back at the FBI, they pieced it together. They devised a sting. “Can I do it?” Sara asked. “Be the one to take him down?”

“Sara,” Neal started.

”I wasn't asking you,” she informed Neal sharply. “Bryan lied to me. He used me. He deserves to know how that feels.” She turned back to Neal. “It's no more dangerous than what you do everyday.”

“Okay,” Jones said. “Here's the plan.”

* * *

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Sara held the string out in front of her, approaching Bryan who searched the room in frantic anguish.

“You really are a clever girl.” He sounded almost impressed, and it disgusted her.

“Didn’t take a genius to figure out something was up. You were angry after what went down after the concert and I figured out you never got what you wanted.”

“I’m assuming you’re here for a reason.”

“I’m here to turn our relationship into a genuine partnership," she said adopting her best flirty tone once more. “ _This_ must be very important.”

Sara did her part to keep Bryan talking about his grand plan. The lies came easily because they were talking about things that could have just as easily applied to her and Neal.

Kissing Bryan, however, did not. She was caught off guard by his mouth on hers and it took a split second for her to remember that if she believed what she was saying she would be kissing him back.

It was hesitation enough for Bryan to say, “Too bad I don't believe you,” as he pulled away.

“What?” Sara asked, not having to feign the incredulity.

“If you had kissed me half as passionately as you looked at Caffrey, this might have ended nicely. Goodbye, Sara,” he said, drawing a sharp curved knife from his waistband.

“Bryan, you don't want to do this,” Sara pleaded, terrified, a second before, thank God, Diana and Neal burst in.

Bryan grabbed Sara, angled the blade against her throat, and ordered Diana to lower her gun. If the situation hadn't had Sara scared half to death, she might've taken some satisfaction in taking advantage of his distraction to kubaton her way to freedom. Neal moved to tackle Bryan, which gave Diana enough time to take aim and promise that if Bryan moved again, he'd “get a bullet to the face.”

Sara was feeling a little better by the time Neal cuffed Bryan and Diana led him out past her, enough to quip: “Sterling Bosch will need a new V. P. Thank you for the baton.”

For the second time that night, Neal asked her, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “You?”

“So much better now.” This time she didn't protest when Neal drew her into his arms, and she let him insist on taking her back to June's.

There was nowhere else she'd rather be.

* * *

“Do we have to fill this out right now?” Neal complained. Even for his commutation, paperwork still felt like a chore.

“The next one's marital status,” Peter said with a knowing smile.

“Is perpetual domestic bliss an acceptable answer?”

Peter checked the married box with a grin of his own, finding Neal's joy contagious. “I never got a chance to say how happy I am for you and Sara.”

“There were, understandably, more important things going on at the time,” Neal deflected.

“No, Neal, I'm serious. If anyone deserves to be happy in love, it's you.”

“Thanks Peter.”

“Now,” Peter said, as he returned his attention to the paper. “Any family in the area?”

“No. And this will have to wait. There's Gordon Taylor.” Neal raised the camera and snapped a photo. “Can I just say how much I hate that you're going after him?”

“Your opinion has been noted and dismissed.”

“He’s one of the most beloved cons in the world,” Neal protested further anyway. “Even his victims like him.”

“For at least one more week, you're part of the FBI, and the FBI catches criminals without regard for nice they are.”

* * *

For the first time since she'd met Neal, Sara had passed several weeks in peace and quiet. The days leading up to Neal's commutation were peaceful. Besides the obvious shake up at Sterling Bosch with Bryan's departure, work had been quiet for both of them. They had time to be a normal couple—normal with a radius anyway. In that spirit, she dropped by Neal’s apartment with pizza. “Neal, let me in. My hands are full.”

The door swung open. Neal mustered up a cursory smile as he took the pizza from her, but it fell quickly.

Sara was confused. Things had been fine the last time she’d been here. “I haven't seen that look on your face in a while, what is it?”

“Gordon Taylor's in town.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

Neal shook his head. “He’s my idol. A thief with my same principles. Only take from people who can afford to lose it. No weapons. Nobody gets hurt. But he’s better than me because he's never been caught. It's his brand: nobody gets caught; everybody gets paid.”

“And you're disappointed because you won't get to work with him?” Sara guessed.

“Close. I'm disappointed because I do get to work with him, but only to bring him down for Peter.”

“And you don't think Gordon Taylor deserves to be in jail.”

“No. No more than I do.”

Sara considered that for a moment. It was an uncomfortable thought. “What are you going to do about it?”

“My job,” replied Neal. “As I told Peter and Mozzie, it will be worth it for freedom. Is it terrible if I spend the whole time hoping Gordon Taylor is just a little bit better than Peter Burke?”

“I think you wouldn't be you if you didn't.” Sara pulled down plates and glasses from a cabinet, and set the table. “Why don't you tell me some of Taylor's greatest hits over dinner?”

“You want to hear more about Gordon Taylor's crime spree?”

“Not exactly, but I can tell you're dying to tell me, and I would like to know more about yours.”

“Really?” Neal’s eyebrows lifted. “Why?”

“Really. I want to know more about why you do what you do.”

They settled down with their plates full of pizza. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Except the location of the Raphael,” he amended.

“So close,” she said with a laugh.

“Tell you what, if we make it twenty-six years, I’ll gift it to you.”

“Why that long?”

“Twenty-six is the art anniversary.”

* * *

Neal told Sara to meet him after the job. June intercepted Sara on her way up. “Do you have a moment, Sara, dear?”

“I can spare one for you.” Sara turned to face June. “Is something wrong?”

“I was just wondering if you planned to stay?” June asked, a hint of disapproval in her tone.

“For good this time,” Sara asserted, her head held high in spite of the way June's scrutiny made her want to fidget.

“Glad to hear it,” June said, but didn't leave, and suddenly Sara found herself volunteering information.

“I don't think I was ever going to leave him, not really. I tried to imagine it on the plane, and then again after Neal, well...” she stopped short, but June knew.

“After Neal suggested he might be going away for a while?” June supplied. “Then you wondered if you could be the kind of woman who received coded prison letters and monitored phone calls. And then you asked yourself how on Earth one impossibly charming man could get you to think like that.”

“Yes. That's it exactly.” Sara shook her head. “I’d almost convinced myself I went to Beijing because I needed to be out of the way. Get somewhere safe so Neal and the FBI could focus on what they really needed to do.” She laughed, that sounded ridiculous.

“Why did you go then?”

“You know how Bachelorette parties are supposed to be one last gasp of single life, in all of its awful glory?”

“I am familiar with the concept, not the experience,” June said, a glint in her eyes. “They’re only needed if you plan to live a dull married life.”

Sara laughed again, more freely this time. “Well I needed to visit a different part of the pre-Neal version of my life. One with less trouble. Only it followed me.”

“It has a way of doing that,” June agreed.

“I just miss feeling like I knew the rules.”

“Rules, Sara dear, are only as good as the people who make them. I recommend following your own.”

“Thanks. I'll keep that in mind,” Sara said.

“I'm sure Neal's waiting,” June said, bidding Sara a good evening as she made her way upstairs.

Letting herself in the apartment. Sara greeted Neal with a kiss. “So don't keep me in suspense, who won?”

“I think it might be called a tie,” Neal said. “The crew went down, but Taylor got away. Thanks to a little assist from Mozzie.”

“Congratulations Neal,” she said honestly. “Sounds like you had the best possible day.”

“Maybe.” He showed her the check. “I did get paid.”

Sara whistled at the amount. “$160,000 for a job well done. Have a plan for it?”

“Yes, actually, a gift for Peter.”

“A gift or a bribe?” chastised Sara.

“I want to rent him Yankee Stadium. Not as a bribe, as a thank you. I wouldn't be here, if not for him. This opportunity with the FBI, for my freedom, even us, wouldn't be possible without him.”

“That sounds good, Neal.” She handed the check back over. “You should do it.”

Neal was quiet for a moment. “Have you thought about what you want to say at the commutation?”

“Extensively. And I thought we weren't going to talk about it,” she replied carefully. “What brought this on?”

“Something Gordon Taylor said: ‘Fish don't do well out of water.’ He doesn’t think I can go straight and Peter _still_ isn't sure.” He sighed heavily. “It has me thinking is all.”

“And you want to know what I think?”

“Desperately.”

Sara tapped his ring. “I think that says you promised to do the right thing, and I never would have married you if I didn't think you could honor that vow. Does that help?”

“Actually, yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

For all the ups and downs of commutation week, Neal had been certain it would all work out okay. Everyone—Peter, Sara, Ellen, Mozzie, Diana—had come together to help him pull off the impossible. One final outlandish con before his freedom to put _St. George and the Dragon_ back where it belonged. He’d almost convinced himself it was fitting. A last hurrah.

Until Peter signaled him. The slightest shake of Peter's head told Neal all he needed to know. Somehow Kramer had beaten them, despite it all.

From the moment he got that signal, Neal’s body slipped into a particular kind of autopilot. The circumstances changed a little each time, but running was running. He needed to get home, grab his go bag, slip the anklet, call Sara. The latter thought crowded his mind before he could stop it. His phone was in his hand and he was dialing even as he cycled through and dismissed the dozens of reasons why this was a terrible idea in favor of the one reason it wasn't.

He’d promised her.

“Sara?”

“I'm just admiring the Raphael. I can see why—”

“Listen,” he implored her. The word loud and urgent. “I have less than 30 seconds. Peter told me to run. I don't know why. But I trust it's the right call. I'm so, so sorry.” His throat got thicker as he talked, choking back tears. There wasn't time for that either.

“Don't forget my IDs. Don't want to leave evidence behind,” Sara reminded him.

He stuffed hers into his go bag. “Right.”

He bent down and cut the anklet next. “I have to ditch this phone.”

“Neal wait—”

“Can’t. Out of time. I'm sorry. I love you. Good bye.” He couldn't afford to wait for her answer, and that hurt more than anything. He tossed the anklet and his phone on the table.

Neal headed down and out of the apartment and hailed a taxi as though the world weren't falling apart around him.

Sara wasted no time redialing the phone. “Which plane, Mozzie?” She ditched her phone too, then left Sterling Bosch and ran.

Minutes later, Neal sank heavily into a plane seat. He knew he should be relieved he'd made it, but Neal couldn't find gratitude in him.

“Is this seat taken?”

Neal thought it particularly cruel that a strange woman on his getaway plane had to sound so much like her. “I'm married,” he replied without opening his eyes.

“I know that, Caffrey. I was there.”

Neal turned. His mouth fell open though he quickly reined it back in. “Sara, what are you doing here?”

“Coming with you. Up the block or halfway across the world, wasn't it?” Sara parroted his words back to him as she sat down. “Don't tell me I’ve been uninvited.”

“No, I mean of course you're invited, but what about staying in New York? Your home, your job."

“All things that are more easily replaced than the man I love," she assured him. "I'm all in, Neal. Whatever that means from here on out I trust you to take care of.”

“We may never go back.” He said it both to warn Sara and because the full gravity of leaving had only started to hit him.

“Then it’s a good thing we’ll be here to remember New York together.” She drew him toward her for a kiss, and held him close as the ground grew smaller beneath them.


End file.
